


A fluting, warbling Robin’s song

by InYourDreamsBirdboy



Series: The Purple Tangram [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Retelling, tim's pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:26:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24372751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InYourDreamsBirdboy/pseuds/InYourDreamsBirdboy
Summary: A tale of a little bird that flew too close to the sun or Tim Drake's long story short. Well, in a manner of speaking for no one can sum it up actually –not even him.The third Boy Wonder shares not only his inner thoughts but all those dark places where his mind wanders since a 'hood' his size crossed paths with him, and he's not going to lie to whoever is out there reading his mind, nope. He's aware that this world -his world- is not the quintessence of how his 8th-grader self had imagined it would be, but if someone can change that, is him.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Ariana Dzerchenko, Tim Drake/Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake/Zoanne Wilkins
Series: The Purple Tangram [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/755349
Kudos: 6





	A fluting, warbling Robin’s song

**Author's Note:**

> After [**"Hell or High Water"**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11288955/chapters/54964021)

Friday night, or game night, or most recently accounted as 'date night,' is supposed to be something you're looking for during the week if you're a typical teenager but me? I'm Robin. I live for patrol nights!

In the last few weeks, we've been overtaken by work: prison breaks, murders, kidnappings, drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, human trafficking-- All kinds of whatsoever and none of them were as enthralling as 'The Purple Tangram' –as I named it. And I wasn't the only one who felt worked up about the case; Gothamists were too. You know, when media throws us little pieces about our city being besmirched and vandalized with cryptic messages -seven messages in total- well, we-- _they_ run wild and desperate translating their actions into a rise of criminality.

I call it the G variable –G for Gotham's people- and it's the only constant that makes sense here. Because you can establish a connection between a place and its inhabitants insofar as it shapes their acts in a specific way and yeah, since the graffiti appeared, our patrols have been broader and longer.

Everyone realizes that Gotham is wicked from top to bottom. We don't have a blue sky like StarCity; ours is red and purple. We breathe poison, chew its bitter particles, and spit them as fast as we can, for if the air has a taste, only God knows what it would do to our guts. And our sewers—Jeez, don't make me think about them _._ Killer Croc’s down there, so it must be much worse than our skies.

Call me dreamy, but we live in the darkness and embrace it because that's the only thing we know better; not just Bruce and me, but everyone around us. It's how we survive the craziness. And at the very least, we cannot have time to get a jump on 'The Sting' -the biggest hit in our history, according to Gotham Gazette- before the news frenzy hits. So…yeah, it's no surprise our citizens become feral. Just another Tuesday.

Anyway, I'm getting a little ahead of the case, so I'll tell the story from the beginning.

**The abstract**

A week ago, seven graffiti were left on seven emblematic buildings from the Robinson Park area to Old Gotham. One per day, all left at night with no record of the vandal and within the same distance –more or less- forming a regular heptagon which center was the Diamond District. Cute logic, right?

The paint used in them was water-based and purple –not green like the Riddler's clues could suggest. That would've been too easy to track down- and the messages weren't precisely elaborated either. They all suggest something big was going to happen and that all of us should 'let the Puzzlement fit the crime,' which sounded crazy but catchy nonetheless.

At first, I thought it was part of Krol's campaign -calls for a loony to govern a loony city- but the theory was just that, a theory. The former DA saw the time fitting to run for Mayor, and, in doing so, he blamed the GCPD for the escalating crime rates, reflecting an unnecessary negative perception of the forces in the public eye. Meanwhile, Commissioner Gordon received anonymous tips and clues of questionable nature in the form of tans cut out from a magazine add that pointed us towards something bigger –or higher.

The 'clues' were supposed to be seven pieces, but the Commissioner got only three. Enough to recognize the place: Old Wayne Tower. And everything clicked in my head like the puzzle it was supposed to be.

Bruce Wayne was hosting a gala to raise funds to help the Police in Labor Day, and it was only four days away, meaning someone was planning to do something during the ball. We had no idea if the target were the department or someone else, but why would they send clues to Gordon if they were plotting against him?

There had to be something else we didn't notice, something we missed or someone that couldn't make the cut out from my previous research. I thought about some other felon playing Eddy's copycat persona of some sort and with an extreme and insane need of attention; someone like Jervis Tetch or… the Cluemaster?

I have to admit it, I never faced the later, nor did I read his entire file through because he was a c-list villain, caught twice by Bruce and Dick, and people like him never go for a third arrest. They just give up or die before reaching the papers, and this 'orange' menace with a short career was out in the street on parole. Fishy… He booked himself as John Doe at Blackgate and got out with the same name. Classic douchebag-move, though it wasn't that hard to track him down. Narcissists need other people to recognize their power, and this guy exhibited all the signs and symptoms of the disorder.

His real name was Arthur Brown; former newscaster from the WGTM radio channel, founder member of the Bruce Wayne's hater club, and what a surprise: cured of his delusion of leaving clues to be caught. Indeed, the ex-con almost had a heart attack when we showed up at his old apartment for a debrief; claimed that he was as clean as the guy next door. He also said that his old gig was already forgotten and that the therapy he received was more than enough to make him an excellent contribution to society.

Ha! As if people could change that easily. It wasn't the first time a cunning sociopath had outwitted the system. Good thing, Batman did not buy his act. Instead, he came up with a plan: 'we hit the streets and see who hits back.' It was an old-fashioned way to step up on our search, but the clock was ticking, and we had only four days before the gala to stop the Cluemaster.

**Filbert St. (Now)**

After two long nights of meetups, and heart to heart talks with all kind of crooks we met Mousie -a local burglar with 'extra' cargo on his back and a change in consciousness along with a broken arm courtesy of Batman- who led us to a fleeting visit to Jimmy Wing –former 'Mayor' of Chinatown. He used to be the toughest hood, specialize in extortion and gambling. Now a businessman with a Mexican restaurant over Mooney Bridge.

The little man pointed towards Brown scooting around Tricorner for some hoods to fill out a string and thus how we ended up standing idle in a nearby rooftop, watching the GCPD surround Cluemaster's building and letting them do the work.

"Are you sure this is how we should handle this?" I know the question is ridiculous, but I have to say it out loud, so I break the silence and lean forward at the edge. My right hand firmly clenched around the grappler gun -only a word separating my index from the trigger- and I'm conscious I shouldn't be pushing an answer that I already know, but I do it anyway. "Shouldn't we nail Brown?"

Batman's face remains blank and says, "No," in a flat tone. I could hear him pondering all the doubts, and the resembles that I share with Jason. Though in my defense I'll say that I've read the files, did my homework. I could never, ever, walk his path, nor commit the same mistakes he did. I'm always aware of my reactions; I watch my responses; I wait patiently. I do anything at hand to distance myself from the memory of the fallen disciple, then why…? Why is Batman like this?

"The media have been dragging Gordon lately, this should be an easy bust, and the police department could use the break," he says, and his voice is leveled.

 _"Was I overthinking again?"_ I'm nodding, crouching down, not entirely sure if my head's answering him or the unspoken doubts I have. But I'm not Jason. _"Not yet anyway, so what if Batman was more concerned about me than the arrest? Why if he was not paying close attention to—what the--?!?"_

"Batman! Over there!" I point towards a running figure in a purple cloak on the rooftop below. "Looks like one of Cluemaster's gang!" The feasible connection is speaking through me as I turn for the chase, ignoring the voice in my head that cries loudly: Jason Todd. It doesn't matter how far I run from comparisons; I would always betray the little progress I reach when I let my avid-self take control over the situation. And, darn! I know I'm not too far from Bruce, but I couldn't allow the suspect to escape. _I could not._

"Go, Robin. Test your rooftop pursuit technique."

The order was everything I needed to regain control over my rambling mind. It's been hard to live up under the shadow of the former Boy Wonders. They were a tough act to follow, set the bar high right at the beginning -even for professional standards. And don't get me started on the lofty goal that the suit entitles.

But, first things first: pursue. I run after the mysterious figure in cahoots. He moved fast, not the best parkour in the area, but what he lacked in proper training, he made up in spirit. The chase took me almost four blocks before I could grab his cape. "Finally, a hood more my size," I say and instantly regret it.

_**BAM!** _

…

..

.

It all started with a brick. A stony, and compact brick of clay that didn't break after the strike, but would leave me dizzy for a week. Just one. Stupid. Hit - efficient and flawless in execution. To get rid of me. Whoever the girl -awfully pretty girl in cahoots- was, she didn't get the memo of how to do that properly because her evasive maneuver had precisely the opposite effect.

I became obsessed with the mystery blonde. She sported a handmade suit with a purple hood. A tangle of hair framed her face while blue eyes haunted me in the dim light. She also got the scariest fist I've faced since I was in Paris, or perhaps not. Maybe I was overestimating her.

Scolding myself and tried to get focus. She could be around my age, and though youngster crooks sprouted up everywhere, they weren't as elaborate with their clothes as she was. I did notice the sense of pride attached to her costume, the way she clung at the ripped mask as if her world would come apart if I took it from her, and I winced. My face burnt.

I tried to get on my feet promptly, but she almost sent me to the other side. _"_ _What kind of a brute does that?"_ I wondered but needed to chase after her to find it out. To know exactly who she was, and with whom she was siding, and more, much more, but my poor head; it was spinning around, a carousel of flashing lights and jumping buildings fogged my sight. I pressed the heels of my hands against red eyes to ease the pain, hoping –wishing- that Batman didn't see it, but this wasn't my best night.

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder the moment I thought about him. Its weight made my world collide the same way I tore apart the girl's mask a few minutes ago. And my heart pounded like hell. The reassuring hand kicked me out of the dizziness to highlight my misery. I 'the one who let the girl run without putting a tracer on her cape' was so ashamed, felt so embarrassed… _"_ _Why did I have to fail?"_ I queried, and my mind ran a hundred scenarios where I stopped her, but it only made me feel worst.

Since when did I lack a clinic eye? I was Robin, for god's sake! Trained to be the greatest detective, to see beyond the end of my nose, and I botched miserably. Got hit by a girl in the first instance, one with a strong arm nonetheless, but a girl after all, earthly and thus stoppable. I was supposed to be stronger than her, smart than that, but she played coy and ambushed me. Girls would be the death of me someday, hopefully not now.

Waves of anger and disgust assaulted me, reaching farther than my bones. The disappointment was written in caps all over my body, visible in the way I hunched my back in defeat, or my face flinched at the very thoughts. The last thing missing was a dramatic pour of heavy rain to make it look like at the beginning of an epic movie where the hero starts at the bottom but, who was I kidding? There was no way I could escalate from that. I was so grounded in my head, so fired from the streets, so—

"Call it a night, Robin."

 _"What?!?"_ I looked up at my mentor. The words he said came out quietly, drawing the line where his patience ended, and I knew well I shouldn't cross those boundaries. Griping was out of the question and fighting for a second chance… well, it wasn't necessary because Batman had already granted it to me.

That was it. It could be what I wished for, but I also wanted to thank him, to promise that it would never happen again, but have I gathered the courage to do so?

I've exhausted all words in less than five minutes, and Batman frowned; features hardening. I never liked that expression. It meant there was something terrible coming. Something I wasn't ready to hear. I'd told it to myself every time I put on the suit like a mantra. This fight, my fight, my entire life hinged on the man's judging, and now there's the incident that spoke volumes about how shitty I did.

My face might have let show how done I was because Batman was tapping me in the shoulder, letting a soundless sigh escaped from his parted lips as he uttered, "You need your sleep."

The words startled me. _"_ _Sleep?!?"_ I needed more than that! Required to record the conversation, and played it multiple times, kept it on repeat until I could believe it. _"_ _Did Batman turn into an empathic person all of a sudden? Is there no lecture waiting for me in the car or the cave?"_

I raised a brow in mildly surprise. _"_ _Did I hear him well?"_ Then Batman –no, Bruce- looked down at me, scanning my swollen skin, evaluating if the damage could be reparable by Alfred, and I felt as if his eyes could see right through me, so I tilted my head to the side, worrying the bruised tissue. It burnt but not as much as the heat delivered from my pounding heart. Should I tell him what happened? Should I confess I was taken by surprise? That I did not expect such a run of events?

The truth was, I had betrayed his trust. I really deserved a lecture, not a warm shoulder. _"_ _What would he have said to Jason if he were the one outsmarted?"_

I knew the answer. I knew it well. Bruce would have ground him until he could be reliable again. He could have taught him a lesson not to underestimate the opponent, not to let them—"Besides, you've got some daylight detecting to do tomorrow."

 _"Tomorrow? Daylight detecting? Me? What the--? What's happening?"_ My mouth fell open. Bruce, -no, Batman this time- still trusted me, but why? Others in my position had suffered harsher consequences, but with me, it was different. Was Bruce trying to find his center? Was I his Guinean pig? Relief waved through my body but also fear. What if I failed him again? What if I couldn't stand?

"I want to know who that girl was tangled with."

 _"How did he know they were a girl?"_ The question hung in my head but never abandoned my lips. Instead, I made a promise, one that I thought I'll be able to fulfill.

"I'll keep my distance this time."


End file.
